At last the clock struck six, and Thélénie, hastening across the garden and the little park, opened a gate leading into a lonely path, where she had arranged to meet Croque.
She soon saw approaching her a man in a canvas jacket and full duck trousers, with his face half-hidden by a sort of coal-burner’s hat, and blackened and reddened in spots. But she recognized Croque by the scar on his cheek.
“This is excellent; you are unrecognizable,” said Thélénie; “besides, there is no one hereabout who knows you very well. But how did you manage to obtain these clothes?”
“Parbleu! with plenty of blunt you can get whatever you want; the peasants are as fond of money as city folk! I should say, more so.”
“Tell me what you have done.”
“I easily found the widow Tourniquoi’s house; and there I recognized the Jacqueline I saw yesterday; the little boy was playing in the yard.”
“Well?”
“I presented myself in my best clothes; a fine outside inspires more confidence.”
“You did well.”
“And yet, when I told that woman that I came from the Baronne de Mortagne, who wanted her to bring her son to her, she wouldn’t believe me; she was suspicious. But the three hundred francs in gold soon scattered all her doubts. When I told her further that the baroness would pay her in full for all the time she had kept the child, and that at three hundred and sixty francs a year for eight years she’d get near three thousand francs—Gad! then it was not joy, it was delirium!—I told her that she must go to Dieppe right away with young Emile. She would have started for China to get her three thousand francs! I gave her the address that you gave me, and she began to pack up at once.”
“When does she start?”
“To-night, on the eight o’clock train. She goes to Paris, and from there to Dieppe at the double quick; she’ll be there to-morrow.”
“That is good—very good! Now my mind is at rest in that direction.”
“It seems to me that I managed the affair rather well.”
“Yes; but there’s another affair, which you must manage as well.”
“Tell us about it; while my hand is in, it won’t cost any more!”
“Monsieur Luminot and Edmond are to fight at eight o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“Ah! the famous duel is to come off! Well?”
“It is to be in a little wood, some distance from here, at the other side of the village. I am confident that Edmond will not have mentioned the duel to the two women at the little house yonder.”
“Probably not; he wouldn’t want to frighten them.”
“Now listen: can you swim?”
“Like a gudgeon. Why?”
“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock—or a little before eight—you will be on the shore of the Marne, near the bridge that crosses to Gournay.”
“I know the place, for I have gone in that direction on my promenades.”
“Then you know how deserted that neighborhood is. One often walks there a whole day without meeting a living soul.”
“Well? let us come to the point!”
“You will have a small boat in readiness; you say yourself that with money one can obtain whatever one wants.”
“You give me money enough and I will have a boat; that doesn’t embarrass me.”
“No one with you, you understand.”
“No one but the boat.”
“You will stay on the bank of the river, like a boatman taking a rest. You will see two women coming.”
“The ladies from the little house! Do you think that they’ll come?”
“I tell you that they will come, in the utmost distress, looking for a boat to take them to one of the little islands that lie just above the mill.”
“Where the obstructions are, and the rapids.Fichtre!it’s no sport handling a boat there! The Marne is dangerous enough anyway; but in that place, it wouldn’t take long to upset a boat!”
“They will see yours and they will beg you to take them to the nearest island.”
“I begin to understand.”
“You will accept; you will row them as near as possible to the obstructions you speak of; then you will lose your oars in the river, and in order to recover them you will jump into the water.”
“Fichtre!that’s rather dangerous!”
“Not for you, who know how to swim; you can select a spot where you can jump in without danger. Then you will swim ashore, paying no attention to the shrieks ofthose women, who will be left in the boat without oars to guide it, and who, I am glad to believe——”
“Will turn upside down with their boat! Oh! as to that, there isn’t the slightest doubt of it; especially if no one comes to their help.”
“Who do you suppose will risk his life for them? In the first place, the banks are always deserted just there, and it often happens that not a boat of any sort passes along that part of the river for half a day at a time.”
“But what about the fellows who fight those women’s battles? I shouldn’t like to meet that young Freluchon, who played ball with Luminot.Bigre!he’d play something else with me!”
“Don’t be afraid; the duel will be fought in the opposite direction, and those men will not be in that neighborhood.”
“All right!”
“Well! is it agreed? will you do exactly as I have told you? do you understand me perfectly?”
“Unless I am an idiot, I should say that you have made it plain enough. You want to drown those two——”
“Hush! hold your tongue! there are things one must never say.”
“To be sure, it’s quite enough to do them.”
“Can I rely on you?”
“Hum! it will cost a great deal. I take a big risk.”
“Here, this roll contains a thousand francs in gold.”
“Ah! that’s very pretty! But it’s only a payment on account, eh?”
“To-morrow, here, at this same hour, I will give you twice as much more, if all has gone as I desire.”
“In that case, it’s a bargain.”
“You swear?”
“Is there any need of swearing between us? Get your yellow boys ready for to-morrow.”
“Until then avoid showing yourself in the village.”
“Never fear; I will keep out of sight in some wine-shop, at a little distance. It will soon be dark; to-morrow morning will soon be here.”
“I may rely on you?”
“Of course, as it’s a bargain. Adieu!”
It was seven o’clock in the morning; the sky was clear and the weather superb. In the country it is a keen delight to enjoy a lovely morning; nature has more attractions, more charms; the grass is fresher, the foliage a deeper green; the flowers exhale a sweeter perfume; although one may justifiably be lazy in the city, it is a great fault when one lives amid the fields.
Honorine and Agathe loved to enjoy the awakening of nature; they were always in their garden at seven o’clock. And now that so great a change had taken place in their position, now that the future appeared so sunny andhappy, they had too many things to say to each other to pass their time in sleep.
The gentlemen had left them rather late the night before; but when they went away, they had said: “Until to-morrow.”
“And come earlier than you did to-day!” Agathe had said to Edmond.
He had answered yes, but his voice had not its usual distinctness. One cannot always control one’s voice; that organ almost always betrays the sentiments that agitate us.
Honorine had shown to Paul the letters of Adhémar to Julia Montoni, and Paul had no doubt that, when he should send them to the count’s uncle, the old man would recognize Agathe as his grand-niece.
Meanwhile, Monsieur Duronceray insisted that half of his fortune should constitute the girl’s dowry; then, in an undertone, almost in a whisper, he had offered the other half to Honorine, with the title of his wife.
She had listened to that proposal without uttering a word, but her eyes had answered for her; it seemed to her so sweet to love and to be loved, that she could hardly believe in her happiness.
“Don’t you think,” Agathe asked her friend, “that Edmond seemed very distraught last evening when he bade us good-night?”
“Why, no; I didn’t notice it.”
“Oh! because you didn’t look at anybody but Monsieur Paul.”
“Well! are you displeased because someone loves me?”
“Ah! my dearest dear, on the contrary, I am very happy. But I divined that love of his a long while ago!”
“Really?”
“And yours too!”
“Ah! but I thought that I concealed very carefully, in the depths of my heart, what I felt for him!”
“You will be happy, dear Honorine. And my happiness would be complete, if——”
“If what?”
“Why, I don’t know what the matter is with me! it still seems to me as if Edmond had something on his mind last night.”
“Don’t, for heaven’s sake, create imaginary torments for yourself. What! can it be that it is I who am called upon now to restore mademoiselle’s good spirits! What can you be afraid of?”
“I keep thinking of that wicked woman. She has already caused my poor father’s death, and something, I don’t know what, tells me that she means to injure me still more!”
“Agathe, you are not reasonable. Luckily Edmond’s presence will drive away these black ideas.—Poucette! doesn’t Père Ledrux come to work in the garden to-day?”
“Yes, madame, it’s his day; he’s a little late, for it’s after half-past seven.—But wait! I think I hear him now.”
The old peasant entered the garden with the basket on his arm in which he always carried his gardening tools.
“Tutu—tutu—turlututu! I’m a trifle late; a tenant of mine is the cause of it.”
“Have you a tenant, Père Ledrux?”
“Yes, only since a couple of days. I don’t think he’ll stay here long; I don’t know what he’s up to, but he goes in and out all the time. He’s a fine gentleman. Oh! yes, he’s one of the swells! I thought at first he’d come down for the fête at the Bellevilles; but no, he didn’t go to it; and yet it seems he knows ‘em.”
“Ah! do you think so?”
“Yes, yes, he knows ‘em well.—I think I’ll water these beds a little; they’re dry as can be!”
“Do so, Père Ledrux.”
In a few moments the gardener returned to the two friends with his watering pot.
“Tutu—turlututu.—After all, my tenant did just as well not to go to that party—at the goldfish place.”
“Why so, Père Ledrux?”
“Well! it was mighty fine, they say; but when things end in a fight—why, that ain’t so amusing! I don’t like that, myself!”
“What’s that? What do you mean by a fight?”
“Why, yes, a fight, quarrelling, blows. And it seems they went at it in good shape, for Monsieur Droguet lost six or seven teeth, and Monsieur Luminot got a crack that echoed like a blow on a drum!”
The young women gazed at each other in surprise.
“Are you quite sure of what you say, Père Ledrux?”
“What’s that? am I sure? Why the whole village knows it as well as I do.”
“How is it that Monsieur Edmond and Freluchon, who were at that party, haven’t told us a word of this?”
“Faith! it’s all the more surprising because it was them as did the hitting.”
“Oh! that is impossible.”
“It’s true, mamzelle! it’s true! It was Monsieur Edmond who hit Monsieur Luminot, and it was his friend, the little man—what do you call him? Monsieur Cornichon—who threw somebody onto Monsieur Droguet and dislocated his jaw.”
“Mon Dieu! what was the cause of the quarrel?”
“Faith! I don’t know; they say so many things; one has it one way and one another!”
“Can’t you guess, Honorine? Somebody insulted us at that woman’s house, and Edmond couldn’t stand it!”
“It is likely; and they have concealed it all from us, in order not to distress us.”
“But it’s all over now, isn’t it, Père Ledrux?”
“Over! oh! no, mamzelle! You see, Monsieur Luminot, who’s quite a buck, can’t take a blow like that without drawing his sword. So they’re going to fight; Monsieur Luminot told everybody so yesterday. He walked all round the neighborhood on purpose, and sung out to everybody he met:
“‘I say! Here’s something. I’m going to fight, I’ve got a duel with pistols on hand!’”
“To fight! Do you hear, Honorine? they are going to fight!—Ah! that is what my heart divined! Tell us, Père Ledrux, when this duel is to take place?”
“It seems it’s this morning that they’re all to meet with their seconds—I believe there’s six seconds.”
“Where are they to meet?”
“Faith! I didn’t think to ask; but perhaps they haven’t told, if they don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Honorine, I don’t want him to fight. Oh! I entreat you, let us go to him.”
“Wait—someone is knocking at the gate; it’s Edmond or his friend, no doubt, and we shall learn the truth.”
Poucette appeared with a letter in her hand.
“A little boy just brought this letter for madame,” she said; “he said there wasn’t any answer and ran right away again.”
Honorine opened the letter and glanced first at the foot of the page.
“No signature!”
“Never mind! read it quickly, my dear!” cried Agathe; “it must be from one of those gentlemen; read it!”
“‘Madame, at eight o’clock this morning, Monsieur Edmond Didier and Monsieur Luminot are to fight a duel with pistols on the first island above the mill, below Gournay bridge. Your presence and Mademoiselle Agathe’s would doubtless prevent this duel, which may have deplorable results. Consider what you will do.’”
“What we will do!” cried Agathe. “Oh! my dear love, let us go, let us run as fast as we can. Look! in ten minutes it will be eight o’clock!”
“Yes, yes; we will go at once! Gournay bridge—that isn’t very far.—And on an island above the mill—yes, I have noticed some islands there, on which it seems impossible to land. Mon Dieu! if only we can find a boat—somebody to row us!”
“Yes, we shall find someone; heaven will help us, it will take pity on us! you see, somebody has warned us. This note comes from Monsieur Paul, of course—or from Monsieur Freluchon.”
“Yes; and they won’t let them fight before we arrive. Let us go!”
The young women hastily seized shawls and bonnets, and rushed from the garden, calling to Poucette, who asked them where they were going so, without breakfast:
“We are going to prevent them from fighting!”
While Honorine and Agathe hastened at the top of their speed toward the bank of the Marne, Edmond, accompanied by Freluchon and Paul, betook himself to the appointed place.
It was a pretty bit of woodland, a short quarter of a league from Chelles. But it was not far from some houses, and a cabaret, established in what was once a keeper’s house, was within two hundred yards.
“It is very pleasant here,” said Freluchon; “this little clump of trees seems to invite one to a picnic rather than to a duel!”
“But for Monsieur Duronceray,” said Edmond, “I should never have been able to find the place.”
“Perhaps that is what your opponent hoped. But I noticed a little eating-house yonder, on the walls of which was the sign:Lapins, sautez;[F]thesautéis spelled with a z, which would seem to invite passers-by to leap, because rabbit is served there. I believe that Chamoureau hopes that the meeting will end in agibelotte—rabbit-stew.—And you, my good dog, good old Ami, why do you keep running so to the right and left?”
[F]Literally: Rabbits, leap; forlapins sauté,stewed rabbit.
[F]Literally: Rabbits, leap; forlapins sauté,stewed rabbit.
“He wants to see if our men are coming, no doubt.”
“No,” said Paul, “Ami has something on his mind; he is restless, he is not comfortable here, he wants to go away; I can see that by his eyes.—Patience, good dog!—Ah! I see our adversaries; there’s not a word to be said, they haven’t kept us waiting.”
Monsieur Luminot had adopted a military costume: he wore a long blue redingote, which fell nearly to his heels and was buttoned to the chin; black trousers and cravat, and a hat cocked over one ear.
“Pardieu!” said Freluchon, “that fellow doesn’t intend that any part of his costume shall offer a mark to his adversary; not even the slightest bit of a white collar to be seen! That is very prudent.”
Monsieur Remplumé wore his everyday clothes. Chamoureau was dressed all in black, and walked as if he were going to a funeral.
They exchanged salutations.
“Mon Dieu! Chamoureau! whom are you wearing mourning for so soon?” asked Freluchon, with a laugh. “I should say that you were in rather a hurry.”
“I thought—it seemed to me—as it was a serious matter—However, Freluchon, I hope that you don’t bear me any ill-will, and that you are convinced that I had no part in all this.”
“Don’t be alarmed; we are perfectly well aware that you don’t count.”
“Messieurs,” said the little, lame man, approaching Edmond’s seconds, “if Monsieur Edmond Didier chooses to apologize to Monsieur Luminot, he will agree to acknowledge satisfaction.”
“We shall not communicate that proposition to Monsieur Edmond,” replied Paul, “because we know that he would reject it with scorn!”
“Still, you might——”
“Enough of this! You have pistols, and we accept them. Allow me to examine them.”
While Paul examined the weapons, Chamoureau drew his handkerchief, wiped his brow and held out his arms toward Freluchon, saying:
“Try to adjust this business, in heaven’s name!”
“Let us alone, and go farther away.”
“How many paces?” Paul asked the lame man.
“Twenty-five.”
“That isn’t enough! Forty paces!” cried Chamoureau.
“It is for Monsieur Luminot to decide.”
“Call it thirty paces!” said Monsieur Luminot, with a dignified air.
“Bah!” muttered Freluchon with a smile; “I shall be glad to believe that they won’t do each other much harm; and I will proceed to measure the paces accordingly.”
The adversaries took their places; Freluchon had measured thirty paces which were fully equal to forty.
“Why, this duel is a joke!” said Edmond to his seconds.
“I suppose you are anxious to be killed in order to give Madame Chamoureau pleasure, eh? How clever that would be!—Come, Monsieur Luminot, you are to fire first, the third time that I clap my hands—that is the signal.”
While Freluchon clapped his hands three times, Chamoureau cowered behind a tree. Monsieur Luminot fired, and his bullet lost itself in space.
When he saw that his opponent was not hit, and that it was his turn to face the fire, he took a white handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in the air, to signify that he wished to parley.
“Monsieur,” said Edmond, walking toward the former wine merchant, “are you willing to admit now that what you said with regard to Madame Dalmont and Mademoiselle Agathe was calumny pure and simple, and that those ladies deserve the esteem and respect of everybody?”
“Yes, monsieur, yes, with the greatest pleasure!” cried Luminot. “I admit it the more readily, as it is my individual opinion.”
“We all admit it—hum! hum!—all!” added Monsieur Remplumé.
“All!” shouted Chamoureau from behind his tree.
“In that case, messieurs,” said Paul, “we consider ourselves fully satisfied, but on one condition; and that is that at five o’clock this afternoon you will be at Monsieur de Belleville’s, and will there repeat what you have just said to us. You will be careful to be accompanied by all those ladies, who were the first to dare to make hateful remarks concerning Madame Dalmont and her young friend. The insult was public, and the reparation must be public as well! I deem it my duty to warn you that, in case you and your ladies should not keep this appointment, we shall renew this battle with all of you, messieurs; and that, in that event, it will be a duel to the death!”
“We will be there! we will be there, messieurs!” stammered Luminot and Remplumé.
“I am going there now,” said Chamoureau in a strangling voice.
“Until this evening then, messieurs, at five o’clock, at Monsieur de Belleville’s!”
“You ought to know the age of that tree, Chamoureau!”
“Now, messieurs, let us go,” said Paul. “Let us hasten to the ladies, for my dog’s behavior troubles me, I am afraid that something has gone wrong.”
“Perhaps they have been informed of the duel,” said Edmond; “and in that case they must be terriblyanxious; let us make haste to set their minds at rest.—See, Ami is going on ahead!”
The dog had already taken the road leading to Chelles. His master and the two young men soon reached the village and went in the direction of Madame Dalmont’s house. But just before they reached it, at a place where three roads met, Ami, instead of taking the road that ran by Honorine’s house, darted along a different road.
“Ami! Ami! where are you going? Don’t you recognize the road that leads to the ladies you are so fond of? How strange! he won’t listen to me!”
“Stay here! Wait for me!” cried Edmond; “we are within two minutes’ walk of their house. I will run there and inquire.”
The young man disappeared on one road, the dog continued along the other. Paul and Freluchon anxiously awaited Edmond’s return, for Ami’s behavior seemed to indicate that something had happened.
In a moment Edmond came running back to his friends.
“They’re not there!” he shouted; “they were told about my duel. They received a letter this morning, and they left the house in a great hurry, saying to Poucette: ‘We are going to prevent them from fighting.’—But what road can they have taken? The one by which we came is the only one leading to the place of meeting.”
“Do you hear Ami, messieurs? He is barking to call us!”
“Believe me, he is the one to help us find the ladies. Come along!”
“Yes, yes, here we are, Ami! here we are!”
The three men followed the path that the dog had taken. Ami’s barking guided them, for it was incessant. They soon reached the main road leading to Gournay; but it also led to Paul’s house, and Freluchon said:
“The dog acts as if he wanted to go home!”
“In that case,” said Edmond, “that is where the ladies have gone, hoping to find us there.”
“No, there must be something else,” said Paul; “that note that they received—who could have written it, as no one of us did? Ami’s barking means anger, yes, frantic passion. Something tells me that that infernal woman has had a hand in this business too.”
The dog, which was still far in advance, turned to the left toward the river; when he reached the bridge, his barking became fiercer than ever; but in a minute he leaped upon the bridge and darted across.
“He certainly is going to your house,” said Edmond.
“No,—see! on leaving the bridge he turned—he is running along the bank of the river; he no longer hesitates, he is on the scent.”
“Mon Dieu! what can have happened?—Agathe! Honorine!—Poor women! Can it be that you came in this direction to look for us?”
“If they came here, they must have been lured by wilfully false information. Let us go on! Ami won’t deceive us!”
“Ah! look! Ami has gone down to the brink of the stream; he is helping someone to save himself.”
“Why, no, he isn’t; on the contrary, he is preventing a man from coming ashore; see! he rushes at him, snaps at him, bites him whenever he tries to leave the water.”
“I know that man!” cried Freluchon: “It’s thesoi-disantBaron von Schtapelmerg; it’s Madame de Belleville’s brother!”
“And it’s the same man whom she once induced me to engage as secretary, and who would have robbed me in the night if Ami had not attacked him. His face is easily recognizable.”
“But Agathe—Honorine!”
Suddenly Paul uttered an exclamation. He had caught sight of a boat in the distance, quite near the obstructions in the river—a boat containing two frantic women, who, unable to manage it for lack of oars, were looking wildly about in every direction and shrieking for help, in vain. The roar of the cascades prevented their voices from making themselves heard. And they saw that they were in danger of death at any moment; indeed, they would have perished long before if Croque had followed his sister’s instructions to the letter. But as he did not care to run the risk of drowning himself by jumping into the water too near the rapids, he had not rowed the boat close up to the obstructions, but had jumped overboard farther up stream, in order to reach the shore more easily.
The little skiff, left to its own resources, had remained for some time in the same spot; and that delay enabled Paul and his companions to arrive before it foundered.But it was high time that assistance should reach the two persons afloat in that fragile vessel; a fresh breeze was driving it toward the most dangerous spot.
Paul and Edmond, throwing off their coats, plunged into the stream and swam with powerful strokes toward the boat. But they were forced to contend against the current and against the eddies that are concealed beneath the surface of the Marne. Despite their utmost efforts, they made but slow progress, and it was clear that they could not arrive in time to save the two women—when suddenly a boat appeared in their wake. Freluchon was seated in it, rowing with all his strength.
“This way,” he cried; “jump into my skiff—we shall get there sooner.—Gad! what luck! there are more oars floating on the water! I have one of them; push the other this way, Edmond; that’s it!”
Edmond and Paul climbed into the boat; having two pairs of oars they overhauled the little boat much more rapidly and reached it at last, as it was on the point of foundering.
Agathe and Honorine leaped on board; they were with their friends—they were saved! They embraced and shook hands; they looked up toward heaven; but for some minutes no one could utter a word.
But the danger past, their emotion finally subsided.
“What were you doing here?” cried Edmond. “Why did you come here?”
Honorine showed the letter they had received. Edmond instantly recognized Thélénie’s handwriting; shehad not even tried to disguise it, feeling sure that her victims would carry the letter with them to the bottom of the river.
“Oh! that woman is a monster!” said Paul. “But for my good Ami, we should never have looked for you in this direction.”
“We had no sooner received the note,” continued Honorine, “than Agathe and I left the house in haste. When we reached the bank of the river, we saw a man sitting beside a boat; we thanked heaven for the chance, we ran to the man and offered him whatever he chose, to take us to the first island above the mill. He agreed. We got into the boat and he rowed for some time in the direction we had indicated; then, all of a sudden, we saw him take his oars out of the rowlocks, throw them overboard, and jump over after them. We were utterly unable to understand such behavior, but we soon saw that we had stepped into a trap. The man swam ashore; but we, abandoned in our boat, without oars, and driven constantly nearer and nearer to a place where the danger was extreme, were at the point of death when you came to our assistance.”
“But without Freluchon all our efforts would have gone for nothing.—By what miracle did you find this boat?”
“The miracle is easily explained: while you were swimming, I searched the bank, saying to myself that it wasn’t possible that there was not a boat to be found on the banks of a river; that it would be like finding nocabs at a cabstand. At last I saw one; there was no driver, but I didn’t care for that. It was fastened to a stake by a chain and padlock, but I said to myself: ‘We’ll see about this; now’s the time to be strong!’—Faith, I broke everything, chain and padlock and stake—but I got the boat!”
Edmond and Paul embraced Freluchon. The young women kissed him, whereupon he exclaimed:
“My word! it’s very pleasant to be strong!—But I no longer hear Ami’s voice. Look, there he is on the other bank; he is pointing at something in front of him.”
“Yes, something that doesn’t move. It is your pretended boatman, mesdames, whom Ami has compelled to drown himself; then I presume he went into the water for him and took him ashore. Let us spare the ladies that shocking sight; let us put them ashore on this side; then I will go across and identify the fellow.”
The boat grounded near the bridge.
Honorine and Agathe stepped ashore and started for home under the escort of Edmond, Paul advising him to take them by the least frequented roads, so that they might not be seen, and to enter by the small gate at the foot of the garden.
Then, with Freluchon, he rowed to the other bank, where honest Ami awaited them, still holding his enemy under his feet.
Croque was quite dead. After trying vainly to reach the shore, which Ami prevented him from doing by throwing himself upon him at every attempt, Thélénie’sbrother had felt his strength abandon him. Afraid to give battle to the dog, whom he recognized perfectly as the one which long before had inflicted the wound of which he still bore the mark, Croque lost courage; he tried to call for help, but his voice failed him, and he soon disappeared under the surface. Then Ami plunged in after him and dragged him to land, as a trophy of his victory, which he desired to exhibit to his master.
“It is the Baron von Schtapelmerg and no mistake!” said Freluchon.
“Yes,” said Paul, “it is Thélénie’s brother, the man who robbed me long ago.”
“The villain won’t rob anybody else; he has well earned what has happened to him. Bravo, Ami! embrace me, good dog! Ah! but for you, many disasters would have happened!”
While Freluchon embraced Ami, who made no resistance, like one who receives what is his due, Paul searched Croque’s pockets, in which he hoped to find some new proof of the crime Thélénie had plotted.
But he found nothing on the drowned man save the roll of gold, containing a thousand francs, which he had carefully bestowed in his belt.
“A thousand francs on a boatman! the fellow was in comfortable case!” said Freluchon.
“This gold was to pay for his crime!” cried Paul; “this gold condemned to death Honorine and Agathe—two women who have never injured that Thélénie!—I will take it from him to give it back to her.—And now,come, my dear Monsieur Freluchon; let us leave this wretch’s body here, and join those who love us.”
“Even so; and we will think of nothing but breakfast; it makes one hollow to row, and I put all my strength into it.”
“Yes, and after that, I have still another duty to perform, and I shall not fail to perform it.”
“Come; see, Ami will be there before us.”
When Chamoureau reached home after the duel, he found Thélénie pacing the floor of her apartment in great agitation. She was counting the hours and minutes. It was not the result of the duel that preoccupied her so, but the result of the plan she had formed to destroy Honorine and Agathe.
Her messenger, after delivering the note with which she had entrusted him, had, in accordance with her orders, lain in ambush a short distance from the house, and had seen the two ladies rush out and hasten in the direction indicated by the note; then he had returned to Madame de Belleville and made his report.
She therefore had no doubt as to the result of her villainy, and yet she felt some inquietude, a vague terror which increased with every moment. The slightest noise, the approach of some person, the sound of a voice, made her start, and stop abruptly to look about her. Despite her perversity, she found that a crime so detestable as that which she had committed, brings in its train,—if not remorse, when the criminal is too hardened,—at least a terror which is an incessant, never-ending torment.
And so, when her husband appeared before her, Thélénie glared at him in dismay, crying:
“What is it? What do you want of me, monsieur? What have you learned?”
“Be calm, my dear love, pull yourself together. You are very anxious, I see; you are very pale. I thank you for your deep interest in me, but there are as many killed as wounded, and no one is dead.”
“No one dead? What are you talking about, monsieur? Explain yourself, pray.”
“Why, I should think that you might guess. Don’t you know, madame, that I have just had a duel—that is to say, I have been a second in a duel—in fact, I have had a duel all the same——”
“Oh, yes! to be sure, it was this morning. Well?”
“Well, we fought with pistols, and we fired first; that was our right. But we missed our adversary; thereupon he agreed not to fire if we would admit that we did wrong to speak ill of his fiancée and her friend; and we admitted it.”
“Cowards! I recognize you there.”
“That is to say, it was not I, it was Luminot, who——”
“All right! I know enough! leave me.”
And Thélénie turned on her heel, leaving Chamoureau alone.
“That woman is never satisfied,” he said to himself; “for heaven’s sake, was she anxious for the death of one of us? O Eléonore! you never longed for anybody’s death!—All the same, I won’t say anything to mywife about the appointment those men made to meet us here at five o’clock. She would be capable of giving orders not to let them in. And those men, especially the owner of the dog, didn’t seem inclined to joke. He threatened us with a duel to the death; so that I am determined that he shall be satisfied; and if madame doesn’t like it, why,fichtre! I’ll show my teeth!”
The day seemed endless to Thélénie, who longed for six o’clock to come. She shut herself up in her bedroom, and kept her eyes fixed upon a clock, waiting impatiently for the moment when she was to see Croque.
But, a few minutes before five, a servant informed her that several callers had arrived, and that her husband desired her to come down to the salon.
“Callers at this time of day!” thought Thélénie; “why, we have invited nobody to dinner to-day, unless monsieur has taken the liberty; but that is not probable.—Can it be that people know already of the accident that must have happened to those two women?—But no matter; I must not act as if I were afraid of anybody!—Let us find out what all these people want.”
Messieurs Luminot and Remplumé, who were no more anxious than Chamoureau for a duel to the death, had carried out Paul Duronceray’s wishes to the letter.
On leaving him, they went first to Madame Droguet, whom they found bathing her husband’s jaw. To her they said:
“You are requested to be at Madame de Belleville’s at five o’clock to-day.”
“Are we invited to dinner again?”
“No, it is not a matter of dinner, but of an important meeting; something very interesting is going to happen; we don’t know yet what it is, but it’s something of very grave importance. Be sure to come; you are expected.”
With such words they could have made the ex-vivandière travel a hundred leagues.
In a small village, curiosity would make the very stones walk. With the same harangue Monsieur Luminot and his second set the whole neighborhood in a ferment.
That is why the salon of Goldfish Villa, at five o’clock that afternoon, contained almost as many people as on the day of the fête; only the guests from Paris were lacking.
Thélénie could not overcome a secret feeling of uneasiness when she saw all those people assembled under her roof. She observed, moreover, a certain embarrassment and constraint on those faces which were accustomed to smile upon her; for Luminot had already said to his intimate friends:
“Madame de Belleville involved me in a wretched piece of business. I extricated myself from my duel with honor, but I must admit that I was in the wrong. The ladies at the Courtivaux house are as white as milk; I consider them most honorable persons.”
The little, lame man had spoken in the same strain. As for Chamoureau, he wandered about his salon with a dismayed expression, answering at random the remarks that were addressed to him.
“May I know to what I am indebted for the presence of such a delightful assemblage in my salon this afternoon?” said Thélénie, as she saluted the company.
“Why, did not you invite us,belle dame?” said Madame Droguet.
“I! indeed, no; although I congratulate myself upon your presence. I confess that I did not expect this pleasure to-day.—So it was you, Monsieur de Belleville, who chose to give me this delightful surprise?”
Chamoureau tried to assume an impressive manner, and stammered:
“No, madame.”
“What! neither you, nor I! This is strange, to say the least.—I believe, monsieur, that you are concealing something from me.”
“Well, madame, we had a duel this morning.”
“I had a duel!” exclaimed Luminot.
“Well, yes, it was you who fought, that is true; but we were told that we would all have to fight if we did not to-day, and here, publicly retract the remarks that were made concerning Madame Dalmont and her young friend.”
“And who dared to demand that?” cried Thélénie, pale with wrath.
“Paul and his dog—that is, the dog didn’t say anything, but he looked at us pretty hard. However, madame, those gentlemen are coming here, and they will explain themselves more fully.”
“Who are coming here, monsieur?”
“The owner of the Tower, with——”
“I don’t propose that that man shall put his foot inside my door. Ah! this is carrying his contempt too far, and I am going to forbid——”
Thélénie had not had time to finish her sentence, when Paul Duronceray entered the salon, attended by Edmond and Freluchon.
No longer in the guise of the hunter who shuns the world, no longer with an untrimmed beard and with his head covered by an otter cap the vizor of which concealed his eyes, did the owner of the Tower present himself; he appeared before the notables of Chelles in the costume of a man of the world, which he wore with as much ease as distinction of manner.
Paul walked straight to Thélénie; his glance was terrifying to behold, and despite her usual audacity, despite all her efforts to overcome her terror, Thélénie shuddered, trembled and lowered her eyes before him.
“You propose to forbid my entering this house, madame,” exclaimed Paul in a powerful voice; “I can well believe it; you divine, doubtless, that I know your crimes, and you are afraid that I might reveal them to your numerous acquaintances.”
“My crimes, monsieur! You dare——”
“To accuse you of an infamous plot! It was not enough to have tried by calumny to ruin two honorable women, one of whom, Madame Dalmont, does me the honor to accept my hand; while the other, Mademoiselle Agathe, daughter of Comte Adhémar de Hautmont—for I am very glad to inform you that that young lady is the daughter of a man for whose death you are responsible. Yes, Mademoiselle Agathe de Hautmont is to marry Monsieur Edmond Didier, who stands beside me;—it was not enough, I say, to have uttered calumny against those ladies, which always finds echoes among fools and evil-minded persons——”
At this point all of Madame Droguet’s social circle made wry faces.
“No,” continued Paul, “this woman, impelled by the most criminal passions, determined to contrive the death by drowning in the Marne of those two persons, whom she detests because they possess virtues which she never understood.”
A low murmur bore witness to the impression produced by these words.
Thélénie summoned all her energy and cried:
“You lie, monsieur; your accusations are false.”
“Very well, madame; deny this letter, sent by you to those ladies. It is in your handwriting; there are several of us here who are perfectly familiar with it. In this letter you announce that Monsieur Edmond is to fight at eight o’clock—on an island above the mill; which was equivalent to telling them to go to that place. And in fact, immediately on receipt of your letter, they started and hurried to the bank of the Marne, where a miserable villain, in your pay, was waiting for them with a boat. They entered the boat unsuspectingly; and when they were near the obstructions in the river, the pretendedboatman threw his oars overboard, jumped after them and swam ashore, abandoning to almost certain death the two victims you had sent him!”
“Monsieur!”
“You did that—see, here is the gold found on your accomplice, your brother, who played the rôle here of a German baron, and who met death on the river bank, thanks to my good dog who was determined that the robber, the assassin, should not escape him again. He put us upon the track of the persons whom you meant to destroy, and whom we saved! Ah! that is what must distress you above all else—that your scheme did not succeed, despite the gold lavished on your brother—See, here it is, madame—the gold of which you make such a diabolical use!”
And Paul threw at Thélénie’s feet the roll of a thousand francs which he had found upon Croque.
The accusation he had made and the tone of conviction in which he spoke made a profound impression upon all the people assembled there. They looked at one another in terror, they turned their eyes away from that woman to whom they had burned incense two days before. Thélénie observed the effect produced by Duronceray’s speech; she reflected that, her accomplice being dead, she could safely deny everything, and, collecting all her resources, she exclaimed:
“I have long known, monsieur, that I was the object of your hatred; to-day you prove that I was right. You turn against me a service that I tried to render, and youinvent a series of crimes, of plots, which are utterly ridiculous.—Yes, I did write that letter—why should I deny it, when it proves simply that I wished to prevent a duel which might have deplorable results? I had been told, I had heard—some persons about me say on the night of the fête, after that quarrel—which I deeply regretted—those persons assured me that a meeting had been arranged to take place on the island I described. I believed it, and I conveyed that information to those ladies. As for your fable of the boatman who jumped into the water purposely, and who proves to be my brother—oh! that is too much! I never read anything more improbable in a novel! I never had a brother.”
“But you had a son, madame!” said a voice at the door of the salon, where Beauregard suddenly appeared, leading little Emile by the hand and followed by Jacqueline, his nurse.
Thélénie was terror-stricken by that apparition; all her audacity deserted her. She fell back in her chair, while Beauregard, motioning to the peasant woman to go before him, pointed to the mistress of the house, saying:
“Look, my good woman; you will find the Baronne de Mortagne not at Dieppe, but here!”
“Eh! bless my soul, yes! that’s her for sure; that’s madame; I know her all right! she ain’t changed; she’s still got those big eyes of hers!”
At these words of Jacqueline directed at Thélénie, everybody looked at that mother who had abandoned herchild, and whose story Chamoureau had told them two days before.
Overwhelmed, crushed by these successive revelations, which made her known at last for what she was, she could find no word to say; she hid her face in her hands.
“You see, my good woman,” Beauregard continued, “that I was quite right to prevent your going to Dieppe; for she hoped to ship you off with the child to some distant country from which you would never have returned. Oh! madame had laid her plan shrewdly; your presence here embarrassed her! But unluckily for her, her brother—for it was her brother again whom she employed to get rid of you—her brother was very fond of drinking and he was rather loquacious in his cups; so that it was not hard for me to learn from him all that it was important for me to know.”
“For all that,” said the peasant, “madame is little Emile’s mother; there’s your mamma, my boy!”
“Her!” cried the child, gazing at Thélénie in dismay. “I don’t want her for my mother; she’d beat me!”
“Still, I suppose madame will take back her son.”
“No, she will not take him back,” said Beauregard, “for, as you see, she never had the sentiments of a mother. But I will keep him, as I have the right to do, for I am his father!”
“His father!” was heard on all sides.
“What’s that! his father?” cried Chamoureau. “I say! what does all this mean? my wife has children, monsieur is their father, and——”
“Shut up, Chamoureau!” said Freluchon. “Don’t you see that all this doesn’t concern you? I advise you to pretend to be dead!”
“Now,” continued Beauregard, “I have nothing more to say to madame, whom I have been asking for a long time what she had done with this child.—Come, nurse, I will settle your account.—Monsieur Duronceray, chance brings me into your presence to-day. I no longer deserve to take your hand, I know, since I betrayed long ago the friendship that united us. But perhaps you will forgive me to-day, when you reflect that at all events I served to enlighten you concerning madame’s sentiments.”
As he concluded, Beauregard bowed low to Paul, who coldly returned his bow, but was obliged to hold Ami, who growled savagely and seemed determined to attack that gentleman.
Beauregard departed, with his son and Jacqueline. Paul then said to the people of Chelles who were present:
“I think that no one now among you ladies and gentlemen retains any doubt concerning the honor of Madame Dalmont and Mademoiselle Agathe de Hautmont?”
“No one! no one!” they hastened to reply on all sides.
“As for myself,” said Doctor Antoine, going up to Paul, “I may say that I never doubted it, and that I have always defended those ladies when anyone presumed to speak ill of them.”
“Very good, doctor; give me your hand then, and come to see us at the Tower; I trust that your welcome will make you forget your first visit.”
The doctor shook the hand that Paul offered him, and the three friends took their leave.
Ere long, the rest of the company followed their example, and Chamoureau was left alone with his wife, to whom he proposed to address a severe lecture. But before he had determined what to say, Thélénie abruptly left the room.
“Ah! she suspects that I have some unpleasant things to say to her,” said Chamoureau to himself; “she fled from my wrath; I will say it all to her at dinner.”
But Chamoureau dined alone; his wife did not come down; and in the evening, when he tried to find her, he learned that she had sent her trunks to the railway station, and had left the house long before.
Thereupon he wondered whether he should go after her; but upon mature reflection, he concluded that he would do better to wait until it should please her to return to him.
A month after these occurrences, a double marriage united Paul Duronceray to Honorine, and Edmond Didier to Agathe, to whom her aged uncle bequeathed his whole fortune.
Freluchon, witnessing the happiness of his friends, declares that he shall end by following their example, but he is in no hurry. Père Ledrux is still employed as gardener by the two new households, although he still carries on a somewhat dangerous traffic, by slandering their hens; but they forgive him in consideration of his tutu—turlututu.
Chamoureau, having abandoned the name of Belleville, continued to expect his wife, who did not return to him.
After six months he learned that she had been killed at London, riding in a steeple chase. Thereupon he put on mourning and went to see Freluchon, to whom he imparted the news, with tears in his eyes.
“What! you idiot! you weep for that woman!” said Freluchon.
“Ah! my friend, I assure you that she had some good qualities.”
“Hold your tongue, for heaven’s sake! don’t imitate the idiocy or dishonesty of those people, who, as soon as a person is dead, give her credit for virtues that she never had in her lifetime! For my part, when a villain leaves this world, I content myself with saying: ‘There are enough left behind!’”
“And Monsieur Duronceray and Edmond Didier—are they still happy?”
“How can they help it? they both have sweet, pretty, loving wives! Ah! if I could find one like them!”
“And the famous Ami, their big dog?”
“He is growing old peacefully among them; whenhedies, I give you leave to weep for him; for he is a pattern of loyalty, devotion and attachment!—Find all those qualities in your friends!”